My blue eyes will stain
your newly ironed dress shirt.
How will you forget?

Birds of a feather flock together
but what if a feather flies free?
Once protection,
now apart from the mosaic that aided in
colored flight.
The strong spine will tear away
and tickle trembling evergreens.
Perhaps settle upon the shimmering indigo,
the surface of an accepting sea.
A hidden intuition emerging,
embraced with faith endlessly.

I'm lying to myself,
but I trust with limitless faith that each day will remain
in my mind,
yet while I search and try to find the fix to this craving
for a day that fulfills this feeling of forgetfulness,
pieces of me are released from my memory
like birthday cards.
Today being the sway of sweet cliches  
sifting through my lips, so lovely
lifting my spirits for high hopes of
happier horizons,
slowly losing their touch
stuffed within the cramped corners of my mind
with the excess "best wishes"
that have no relevance
as the seasons continue to rotate.
Days, ages, as time grays
all discarded and forgotten.

I am dehydrated grass
singed at the tips
by the scorching sun.
I am the horizon where that sun rests,
the soft transition
of an early evening with a vast
Vermont-like sky.
I am an aged Polaroid photograph,
trapped in a dusty attic,
humble and wise.
I am sour milk, causing
alerted taste buds
and twisted tongues.
But I am also a honeysuckle.
The comfort
hidden in the dark
of the mysterious greenery.
A sip of nature's luscious candy.

He is the screaming wave of a tsunami
absorbed into pavement,
the salt water seeping into the cracks of my skin,
begging for praise
longing for love
not realizing it is causing harm
but once a second tidal wave is born
and takes control of the initial parade of chaos
that is when the water will subside
yet the landscape is left
destroyed
a place once filled with love
stripped of its natural image
and I have no remorse
for the pain of the waves.

Unknown pasts all collecting in one silent room.
Observers on the outside looking in.
He, a quiet and lonesome boy, only befriending his headphones, besides the loud, obnoxious, outspoken ball of manlike estrogen filling our heads with ignorance.
Bunches of hair can shade my ears from the questions of the clueless.
Unaware of any ounce of confusion lingering in my eyes, just hoping to pounce on a snarky remark of a neighboring mystery.
I never thought it would have ended like this.
My ability to be so comfortable in a room of strange acquaintances, but not so much strangers.
Unexpectedly, I am content with pondering the underneath of his exterior, the inner lining of his flesh that would consequently complete my quest for an answer to my absence of heart.
I'm not surprised that I still remain more curious in the overlooked hypnotic curls than the comb over.

A sickly entrance, barely breathing,
I'm tiptoeing through viridescent dreams
as silent as envy
like her heart's song for me.
I hummed the lyrics in his ear
but she wouldn't dare whistle the melody.
I was greedy for her glory
a dull emerald in my cheeks,
its beginnings as an ember,
doubling in size: a forest fire,
deciding to swallow her whole.
Slimy tears gather in algae pools
drowning in a lime seaside.
Not the slice in your icy margarita,
but the twist in your taste buds
spitting the seeds into her hands.